Growing Up
by LillyOfTheField
Summary: "If anyone were to miss Lily, it would be Petunia. But that would be silly." One-shot.


There aren't a lot of people who miss Lily Potter.

There are, of course, the children. Children sitting in History of Magic classrooms, much more interested in the festivities to take place than the deaths. As far as they are concerned, Lily Potter might as well be Uric the Oddball or one of the other hundreds of names required to be memorized in time for an exam and then quickly forgotten to make room for more useless information.

There are the muggleborns, distinctly aware that the only reason they are able to go to work, able to wave their wands and say the incantations, able to walk among fellow wizards are because of the sacrifice of Lily Potter, the death of the Potters that started the downfall of Voldemort—even saying his name is something to they would have never imagined only a short while ago.

There are the families broken apart because of Voldemort, the families kept whole by sheer luck. There are teachers and shop workers and Ministry employees, Healers and Aurors all who take a moment out of their day to mourn the Potters.

But most of their generation is gone. Most of their year had died in the wars, including the entire Gryffindor and Hufflepuff class. Alice Longbottom, Lily's best mate, had died a few years ago, having spent a good portion of her life insane. Sirius Black, James's, was long-gone.

Not even Harry could truly say he missed them. He missed his parents, who he was sure were wonderful people. He missed years of bedtime stories and hugs, birthday presents and shoulders to cry on. He missed the advice he would never receive, the lullaby no one would ever sing him.

If anyone were to miss Lily, it would be Petunia. But that would be silly.

Petunia hated Lily. She did. She told herself this at least once a day in the month of October. Whenever the sadness would overtake her, whenever a tear threatened to slip, she reminded herself of childhood arguments and petty jealousies. But the wounds that had once hurt so much were beginning to heal and the anger had faded until all there was left was sadnesss.

How foolish she had been. Was this growing up? Finally, was Petty Petunia growing up?

She hated it.

She wanted to loathe Lily, to hate her. Because the only other alternative was hating herself.

Hating herself for what she did to Lily, for what she did to Harry, for what she did to Dudley. Hating herself for trying so hard but not trying _enough_. Hating herself for not being magical, for not being special.

If she couldn't be special, she had decided long ago, she might as well be ordinary. Very ordinary—her defining trait being that she was so average in every way except for how astoundingly average she was.

She wished so many things. She wished she could go back in time and hug Tuney, wiping the tears away with a smile. You _are_ special, she'd say. You're magnificent. You're _better _than this.

But she had spent so much time being Petunia that she could no longer remember who Tuney had been.

Lily was never insecure. Lily knew what she was doing at all times. She never worried about whom she was or who she wanted to be—she simply was. Lily was Lily Evans until she wasn't that and she became Lily Potter until she wasn't that and she became just a body—lifeless and unfeeling—and for that Petunia hated her.

Petunia hated that she had Lily's picture on her nightstand, and said a prayer every night before bedtime.

She hated that she kept her own kin locked in a cupboard under stairs.

She hated that she had to be stuck with the boy in the first place.

She hated that Lily wasn't there.

She hated that there ever _was_ a Lily.

She hated

She hated

She hated and hated until there was nothing left and she wasn't a grown woman and she wasn't a grandmother who had made peace with herself she was a person who was eaten alive by guilt and longing and hating and hating and

Lily wouldn't have this problem. Lily never had problems—Lily's greatest problem was that it took her ten seconds to learn something instead of her usual five. Lily's problem was Petunia and Petunia was Petunia's problem and all Petunia did was hate and hate and hate until until until

But Petunia knew. She was the last one left. She was the last one to miss Lily—_truly miss_ Lily—and she didn't have much time left before all that was left were bored students in class or wizards appreciative not of Lily but what she stood for and what she had done.

So she murmured her prayers and visited the graves and did not cry—it was out of duty. She didn't miss Lily Potter. That would be silly.


End file.
